


White Christmas

by PFL (msmoat)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-26
Updated: 2009-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-05 06:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie comes back with the snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Christmas

Red blood soaking into white snow. It had been carpet last time. Last—

It was a thin layer of snow; it would soon melt. "Great," Anson had growled. "Now they'll be on about a white Christmas." Doyle hadn't cared.

_Love the snow, you know_.

It was cold on his face, and he welcomed it.

_You can have it, mate. I'd head south if I could. South of France, Spain—_

He couldn't move. Couldn't save himself. Heard voices—

_Overrated. I'd rather be here—learnt that in Africa_.

But he'd gone. Gone—

"Doyle! Christ." Someone knelt beside him in the snow. "Five-two. Priority A3. Agent down—"

_He didn't leave you a message_.

"Hang on, Doyle. Ambulance on its way." It was Anson. "Must've been Granger. Fuck. Doyle, can you hear me?"

_Who was it, Ray? Who was it? Oh, c'mon, Ray, for Christ's sake! Who was it?_

He didn't care.

"Doyle. Stay with me. Stay—"

_Bodie_. Darkness narrowed his vision, but he still saw the snow.

_Snow's magic, didn't you know?_

"Fuck you," he whispered.

****

"Fuck you," Doyle said. He turned and walked as fast as he could down the hospital corridor. The fact that it wasn't very fast only added to his sense of injustice.

"Doyle, come on." Bodie sounded frustrated. Good. "Cowley said—"

Doyle felt a hand on his arm and turned his head to glare. "Fuck Cowley!" Bodie winced and looked around quickly. Fuck Bodie, fuck Cowley, fuck the whole sodding lot— "How long have you been in London?" He didn't lower his voice.

"No, that's quite all right, sister." Bodie held up a hand towards someone behind Doyle. "I'll get him outside." Bodie took Doyle's arm in a hard grip and hustled him down the hallway.

Doyle let him. "How long?" He gritted the words out.

Bodie sighed. "A little over a week."

Doyle nodded and pulled out of Bodie's hold. "Fuck—"

"—You. Yeah, broken record, Doyle."

"_Sod_ off." But he continued walking next to Bodie.

"Look, Cowley told me to—"

"You don't work for Cowley any more."

There was a pause. "I do."

Doyle stopped again, and looked at him. Bodie gazed back, his expression calm, but Doyle could read the tension in his body. Bodie appeared healthy—not at all like a man who would never reach A Squad fitness levels again. You couldn't be on the A Squad if you didn't have a spleen. "Leaving seems to have agreed with you."

"It didn't."

Doyle turned away. "Yeah, well, just bugger off now, will you? I'll find my own way—" He gasped as his body protested the unwary movement.

"Stubborn, irritating—" Bodie clamped an arm around him and got them moving again. "Shut up. You can take me apart in the car, if you like."

"I'm not—"

"Or you can stay in hospital."

Doyle closed his mouth, and then opened it again. "You wouldn't."

Bodie was silent, but he transferred his grip to Doyle's arm.

"Bully."

"Twat."

Doyle's lips twitched, but he didn't look him. "Yeah, okay."

Bodie released Doyle's arm, and they continued towards the car park in silence.

It was surreal having Bodie there beside him—a bizarre combination of the familiar and the strange. A year ago he would have said he knew Bodie better than anyone—could predict his actions, his jokes, his choice of target. But Bodie was a stranger to him, and always had been. Doyle hadn't realised that until it was too late.

_He didn't leave you a message_.

_I don't need you or anyone, Doyle_.

Bodie had made his boundaries very clear. Doyle had only hurt himself when he'd ignored them. He couldn't afford to forget that, no matter how easy it would be. But Christ, Bodie was back. _Safe_. He wanted to hit him. He wanted to— Doyle cut that thought off. They entered the car park, and he recognised his own Capri. "Oh, great. You stole my car."

"I was handed the keys to your car."

"Why? What's wrong with your own car?"

Bodie unlocked the left door of the Capri. "My car was deemed unsuitable for CI5."

Doyle sniggered as he slid into his seat. "That bad, eh?"

Bodie settled into the driver's seat. "I believe his exact words were: 'Och, you can't be driving that.'"

"Your accent has improved."

"Travel—" Bodie swallowed the rest of his words. He started the car.

Doyle looked out the side window.

After a pause, Bodie said, "I went to Europe."

Doyle kept his eyes on the passing scenery. The light was fading on a grey and rainy day. "I wondered. I thought maybe Africa."

"No. Never again. Too hot."

"It snowed the other day." He could still feel it—cold and completely unmagical.

"I know. Ray...how are you?"

"I'm fine."

Bodie changed gear as they approached a roundabout. "I left. I've no right to ask about—"

"Cowley didn't make as free with my medical status as he did with my car?"

"No."

Doyle turned his head to look at him. "But then you aren't my partner."

Bodie said nothing, his lips compressed, his eyes on the road.

Doyle stared at his profile. He could ask Bodie about it—he'd always asked.

_What the hell are you doing?_

_What happened to you last night, then?_

_You blew it again!_

He'd asked about Bodie's intentions on the Forrest case. He'd asked about Marikka. He'd hit a wall with Keith Williams. He'd kept trying. It had taken an empty flat and Cowley's unemotional voice to finally teach him the lesson.

_He didn't leave you a message_.

Bodie had shut Doyle out after the beating, when it became clear he wouldn't make it back on the squad. And then he'd left without a word to anyone but Cowley. Not a word. Doyle looked out the window again and wished for the drive to be over. He supposed this was Cowley's way of letting him know Bodie was back. It probably was better than running into him for the first time at HQ.

Bodie cleared his throat. "Heard you were working with Anson when—"

"Yeah."

"I thought he was better than—"

"Anson's all right." He kept his voice flat.

Bodie's hands tightened on the wheel. "All right. You call that—"

"Don't start." Doyle looked away, then back. "You've been gone for a whole sodding year. You don't know what happened. You don't know—"

"Ray—"

"Luck of the draw, sunshine, that's all it was." _Luck of the draw, Doyle_.

Bodie's eyes flicked to him, then returned to the road. He changed gear with more force than necessary.

Doyle stayed silent.

"I saw Cowley on that day it snowed," Bodie said.

"He must have been pleased."

"Not noticeably."

"Ah well, give it some time. Blue-eyed—"

"Ray. I came back."

"Yeah. Must've been old home week while I was in hospital."

"This is my first official day, but—"

"Well, you'll find not much has changed. We lost a few battles. Agents. Stevens was killed. Lang as well. Murphy's at a rehabilitation centre, but he should be back. Julie's gone—pregnancy, though, not—"

"I don't care about the bloody squad!"

Doyle shrugged, and looked out the window. He heard Bodie sigh.

"I'm sorry."

"No need." He kept his tone even. He had to get through this, get it over with. He dredged up a smile as he glanced at Bodie, as if he were an old acquaintance. "I'm glad you're back—in whatever capacity. We'll go for a drink sometime, right?" Thank Christ they were nearing his neighbourhood.

"Right." Bodie's voice was as colourless as Doyle's.

It was better this way. Safer. The past was—it was over. "Europe didn't agree with you, eh?"

"I couldn't settle. I came back and hooked up with a friend of mine from the SAS. He's running a sort of training camp for civilians. You know, for journalists going into combat zones, executives, would-be weekend warriors."

"Sounds lucrative."

"Yeah, it was all right. Wanted a bit more, though." Bodie turned in to Doyle's street.

It occurred to Doyle that Bodie hadn't ever been to this flat. Cowley must have given him the address—unless Cowley had sent him to restock...? Fuck, he probably had. For the first time Doyle regretted the distance he'd maintained between himself and his fellow agents after Bodie's disappearance. There had been no one else for Cowley to send.

Bodie pulled in behind an Aston Martin V8 Vantage. He switched off the engine, but didn't say anything.

"You've just parked that Aston in."

Bodie shrugged.

He should get out of the car. They had nothing to talk about—nothing Bodie would talk to him about. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable. "You wanted a bit more money?"

"No."

Doyle looked towards the door to his block. The rain had started again after the sunset.

"I missed it, Ray. Missed the job—" Bodie broke off, and gave a short laugh. "Can you believe it? Missed this. You."

Doyle got out of the car, but he didn't walk across the street. There was snow mixing in with the rain, he saw, but the flakes were drowned. Why the fuck couldn't he walk across the street? He shivered. After a few moments, Bodie followed and stood next to him. It was odd how it hurt to have Bodie there. Maybe he'd grown used to the empty space by his side.

"Ray, I—" Bodie put his hands into his jacket pockets. "I know it's all changed, okay? I don't deserve— I can't—watch your back."

"Not from Europe. Or wherever you ended up."

"Would you believe Carlisle? Or outside it, anyway."

"Oh, well, no wonder you wanted back in."

"I'm not on the squad. It's different. But.... Christ." Bodie took in a breath. "Look, can we...we're—friends?"

"Friends?"

Bodie nodded.

"Best mates. Go down the pub, pull birds, go and watch a match—"

"Dammit, Doyle." Bodie closed his eyes. The rain fell harder, and water slid down Bodie's face.

"I don't know." He watched as Bodie's eyes opened on an empty expression. Doyle's stomach tightened almost painfully. He should end it here. He should. "Are you hungry?"

Something like relief flickered across Bodie's face. "I could get takeaway...?"

"No." Bodie looked away. Doyle touched his arm, and softened his voice. "I've got food in." He raised his eyebrows. "Haven't I?"

Bodie smiled for the first time—and it was like a blow to Doyle, reminding him of all he'd lost. "I took care of it."

Doyle managed a nod. He crossed the street with Bodie in step with him, like a matched pair. But they were broken. It could never be as it was.

Doyle let them into his flat. "You must know where everything is." He took off his jacket. "I'm going to wash off the smell of hospital." He saw Bodie hesitate, and suddenly knew what he was thinking—remembering. "Go on." At least his voice sounded normal.

Bodie nodded and headed in the direction of the kitchen. Doyle walked to his bedroom. The memories he and Bodie shared followed him.

_Shut up, Doyle. You're going to fall into the bath at this rate, and I don't fancy fishing you out_.

_Coward_.

_Realist. You haven't lost that much weight!_

Doyle took a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt with him to the bathroom. Bodie had become his shadow after Mayli had nearly killed him. They'd spent as much time together as on the job, only they'd gone to Rita's, to the shops. Bodie had carried his laundry, made him eat, watched over his bath and his sleep. Bodie hadn't budged, no matter what Doyle said, no matter Doyle's mood. It was only later he'd realised how much he'd taken Bodie for granted. How much he'd revelled in Bodie's company.

Doyle undressed as the bath filled. He wouldn't take a bath, but he could use a flannel to wash around the light bandage. He'd understood Bodie's motivations after the shooting. Bodie might have had his boundaries, but he'd always protected Doyle's back. It didn't matter that the shooting had happened when they'd been off-duty, or that Bodie had got to him in time. Bodie had made damn sure Doyle was protected until he got back on the squad. And even then—

He closed his eyes for a moment. Even after he'd made it back onto the squad, Bodie had been extra-vigilant. Until the night he'd gone in on an op and had been beaten almost to death. Doyle hadn't got to Bodie in time. And Bodie hadn't any help or protection. Doyle draped the flannel on the side of the bath. He let the water out and stepped out of the tub to dry off.

He couldn't blame Bodie completely. If their roles had been reversed, maybe Doyle would have left. Bodie had lost everything after the beating—his job, the role he was used to. Maybe he'd needed a clean break. Doyle had carried on with job—and he had no choice but to do it again. Surely he owed that much to Bodie. He pulled on the tracksuit bottoms.

There was a brief knock on the door. "Ray? Dinner."

"Yeah. Okay." He grabbed his t-shirt and opened the door.

"I hope eggs—" Bodie stopped speaking. His eyes travelled over Doyle's chest and the bandage that covered him, obscuring the older scar. "Christ." Bodie's voice was a whisper.

Doyle brushed past him, and moved into the bedroom. It was chilly in the room.

"How bad is it, Ray?" Bodie said from behind him.

Doyle shrugged. "Does it matter?" He eased into the t-shirt.

Bodie pulled him around, taking hold of both arms. "For Christ's sake, of course it—" Bodie's eyes narrowed, and again his gaze swept over Doyle's chest. "That dozy bastard Anson! I should've—"

"It wasn't Anson's fault." Doyle tried to break free, but Bodie held on. "It would've gone down the same way if it'd been you and me. I told you. Luck of the—"

"The bloody draw. Yeah." Bodie stared at him, and then his grip tightened almost to the point of pain. "Did you fight, Ray?"

"Of course I—" But his throat closed on the words. He hadn't cared. He swallowed, then glared at Bodie. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You stupid, sodding—" Bodie let him go. "So, it would have gone down the same way if I'd been there, eh?"

Doyle folded his arms around himself. "Yeah."

"I don't believe you."

"Sod off! I was there. I know how it went down."

"Man on the spot."

"Right."

"Right. So the same as _I_ know."

Doyle frowned. "What—?"

"Luck of the draw. I said that after the beating, didn't I? And all this time...? Christ, Doyle!" Bodie turned away, then turned back and looked at Doyle through narrowed eyes. "Look, I went in on the Hathaway op. There was nothing you could have done to stop me or prevent the beating. Nothing."

Doyle stilled. His lungs felt as if they were locked.

"I never blamed you for that. It never crossed my mind."

"You left."

Bodie closed his eyes. "Because it was over. I couldn't— I couldn't do the job."

Doyle looked away. It seemed like every muscle in his body was strung tight.

"I still can't." Bodie's voice was soft, yet it drew Doyle's attention like a siren. "I'll do what I can. I'm not leaving again, Ray."

After a moment, Doyle breathed out. Their gazes met and held, and it was as if the months apart had never happened. He felt an easing of a long-held tension inside.

"Okay?"

"Okay. Fair enough." He took in a breath. "No one to blame."

"That's right."

Doyle tilted his head. "Including Anson."

Bodie sighed. "If you insist." His eyes flickered over Doyle.

He knew what Bodie wanted to ask. "The bullet took a clean path. They say I should make it back on the squad, but—"

"You will."

"Maybe." And what would it be like leaving Bodie behind? Doyle turned away. He felt cold again and his shoulder and chest ached. "Didn't you say something about dinner?"

"Fuck." Bodie hurried out of the room.

Doyle found a sweatshirt and pulled it on, then followed Bodie. Friends. Best mates. He'd wanted Bodie back, but he'd never tried to track him down. He'd been too confused by anger, guilt, and hurt. In the end, Bodie hadn't trusted him enough to let him in. There was no crossing the boundaries Bodie put in place. Despair formed a knot in Doyle's stomach. Too much had changed in a year—and too little. Yet he had no choice but to try to go along with Bodie's wish.

Dinner, as it turned out, was breakfast. Doyle eyed the warmed up cheese omelette, beans, and bacon. "One day you're going to have to expand your repertoire."

"Go on, dig in. You know you love my omelettes."

"You use too much cheese." Doyle took a mouthful of omelette and savoured the explosion that hit his taste buds.

Bodie rolled his eyes. He seemed at ease, as if he'd finally relaxed. "So, fill me in on all the gossip. The really juicy stuff."

"Why? You'll know more than I do within the week."

"Did you say Julie's _pregnant_?"

"Hmm." Doyle nodded as he took another bite of the omelette.

"Who's the father, then?"

"No idea." He looked at Bodie sideways. "Perhaps she'll tell you."

"They all do, my son."

"You've got that many children, have you?"

"Nary a one." He leaned closer to Doyle. "Had the operation, you know."

"You what?" Doyle stared at him.

Bodie laughed.

"Berk. Tell me about Europe, then."

"Not much to tell. I went to Amsterdam to begin with."

"Oh yeah?" Doyle grinned at him.

"Not for that. I travelled around a bit, looked up some old friends." Bodie sliced his bacon.

"But you couldn't settle, you said."

"Nothing appealed."

Doyle chased a bean around his plate. "Cowley wanted you to stay."

"Yeah. I wasn't ready for that."

"And now?"

Bodie shrugged. "I'll play it by ear."

"Nothing new there, then." He put his fork and knife down. "Any idea what you will be doing?"

"Dunno. Cowley hasn't been specific. You're not finished, are you?"

Doyle pushed his plate away. "Yeah."

Bode cleared his own plate. "Hand it over, then."

Doyle handed the plate to him, but shook his head as Bodie took a chunk out of the omelette. "Better watch that, or Macklin—" He cut himself off, his stomach tightening again.

Bodie chewed, then swallowed. "There's one advantage to not having a spleen."

"Yeah." Doyle stood. Bodie continued to eat. It was such a normal scene—it could have been any time in the past five years. They'd get a call out any moment, strap their holsters on, argue over who would drive— Doyle turned and left the kitchen, walking quickly into the darkened living room. He didn't stop until he was standing by the window. His breathing was shallow, as if his chest was constricted. He couldn't do this. It was bearable when Bodie was his partner, when he had a role to play and established routines to follow. Now—

"Ray."

The rain had changed to snow. He could see it on the roofs and the pavement. It never snowed like that any more. Bodie used to complain about the lack of snow.

"I'm sorry." Bodie's voice was sombre.

He had to let it be. They'd be colleagues, but they'd drift apart naturally with Doyle on the squad and Bodie...not. Let Bodie stay where he needed to be. But he couldn't, he couldn't. Doyle turned. "It's too late." He couldn't live with half a loaf. There was enough light from the kitchen for him to see the pain that crossed Bodie's face. And then the expression was gone, and Bodie straightened in that familiar stance—a soldier accepting responsibility for his actions. It that wasn't right—it wasn't Bodie's fault. Not this time.

"No," Doyle said, and he moved forward. This was his failure to bear. He took Bodie's shoulders in his hands. "I...." He let his voice die. He couldn't explain. He could only— He kissed him. It was a pressure of lips, nothing more, but it lasted long enough so there could be no mistake. And even that touch—as chaste and hopeless as it was, sent a spark of desire through Doyle. He'd only discovered his love and need in the devastation of the loss of Bodie. And even as despair swept through him, he felt a certain triumph—he'd been _right_. He broke the kiss, and backed away to give Bodie room. Yet he didn't go far; he would face him.

"That's...not a problem." Bodie's voice was strange, his face blank.

"It is for me. I can't—" He looked away, biting his lip. "I can't be...friends." His eyes returned to Bodie's hard face.

Bodie took a step towards to him. "You can."

"Bodie—"

"But that's not what I want." This time it was Bodie who took his mouth, and there was nothing chaste about it. Doyle gasped. Bodie's tongue found his, and he tasted of— Doyle wrenched his head back, but Bodie's hand on his back kept him close.

"You never—"

"I have."

Doyle narrowed his eyes. "When?"

"Does it matt—?" Bodie cut off his words, then spoke again: "A long time ago. It was easier to just play by the rules in England."

"You've been with a man."

"Men."

Doyle broke away from him. "Bloody hell." He turned towards the window.

"Are you complaining?"

Doyle turned back, one hand in his hair. He saw Bodie start to smile and it acted like oxygen to fire. "Yes! I am."

The smile widened. "I have missed you, Ray."

"This isn't a joke, dammit!"

"Well, it's not like you told me you were a flaming queer, did you?"

"No, but—" He stopped speaking, then breathed out hard. "I'm not."

"Ah. So when did you have this great revelation about wanting me? Assuming that is what you want?"

Doyle glared at him.

Bodie's eyebrows went up. "After I left, eh?"

"I wish you'd go now!"

"No you don't. And anyway, I told you I'm here to stay. You know how hard I am to get rid of." Bodie moved closer. "A kiss isn't going to do it."

"Bodie. Dammit. You don't—"

"Sodding hell, Doyle, why do you think I came back?"

"The jo—" But he choked on the word, knowing it wasn't true.

"Yeah. The high pay and easy living, that's the draw."

Doyle stared at him and a stray thought clicked in his brain. "That's your bloody Aston Martin down there, isn't it?" Indignation coloured his voice.

Bodie grin blossomed yet again. "It might be." He shook his head once, his face softening. "Trust you."

Doyle's jaw tightened. "You don't."

"What do you mean?"

"Trust me. I can make a list. Marikka Schuman. Keith Williams. Your disappearing act. Hell, _this_ little bombshell!"

"I can make the same list—and do you one better: Krivas."

"What are you on about?

Bodie folded his arms. "Marikka: you didn't believe Willis about me. Keith: you didn't try to pull me off King Billy."

"I had to get rid of the others first, but—"

"Did you think I'd kill him?"

"Yes!" Doyle glanced away. "Well, in the middle of a fight, but...."

"But as soon as you joined in, I was no longer fighting for my life. I put the hold on him, but I didn't kill him."

"Cowley—"

"Doesn't understand me the way you do." Bodie reached out, but stopped short of touching him. "You trust me Doyle, and for that I trust you." Something like wonderment was in his eyes as he lightly touched Doyle's cheekbone. "Remember Krivas?"

"Yeah." Doyle's heart was hammering, and he was doing his best to tamp down on a hope he didn't dare acknowledge. "I said you were no better than he was."

"That's when it changed, you know. That's when I really left the jungle."

"Because you didn't kill him?"

"Because you knew I wouldn't—after I gave my gun to you."

Doyle blinked, remembering that day—the sun, the smell of the wood and meadow all around them. He remembered the relief he'd felt when Bodie had tossed him the gun. No, it had been more than relief. It had been like two halves clicking into place, becoming one. "That long?" he whispered, as much to himself as Bodie.

"No one else has ever—" Bodie looked down, then back at Doyle. "I had to watch your back."

Trust, protection—they were all one with Bodie. Krivas had posed no threat to Doyle once he'd been caught, but Marikka, Keith Williams, even Forrest had. Bodie had shut him out to protect him, Doyle realised. The stupid bastard. But it fit. Oh, it fit. Except— "How the hell does leaving fit in that?"

"I...broke."

Their eyes met, and there were no barriers between them. "Fool," Doyle said. "It's not your gun hand I need."

Bodie put his hands on Doyle's shoulders—gripping the right, but keeping his touch gentle on the other. "I know I haven't been.... I haven't told you everything about my past—"

"You haven't told me _anything_ about your bloody pa—"

"And maybe I've shut you out a time or two—"

"More than that, you—"

"Shut up, Doyle! Strewth! I'll try to be different, all right?"

It registered suddenly just how much Bodie had talked to him since picking him up. Bodie had answered or tried to answer every question Doyle had put to him—even the ones Doyle hadn't dared try. It was rare that Bodie was so openly— And out of the blue he remembered an old conversation, and a question he hadn't asked, but Bodie had:

_You scared?_

_Yeah. You?_

_Yeah. All the time_.

There had been a bedrock honesty in Bodie's voice that had steadied Doyle's nerves and allowed him to breathe. They could form something on that solid foundation, if it was shared. "What do you want, Bodie?"

Bodie's hand tightened on his right shoulder. "I want to stay with you." And he saw it then, as clearly as if Bodie had explained it: Bodie would have stayed, even if Doyle had kept him at a distance.

He pulled Bodie close, as he'd wanted to do that day they'd faced an almost certain attempt on Parsali's life. "I couldn't send you away."

Bodie's breath was warm on his neck. "As long as you'll fight, Ray."

He closed his eyes, feeling the reassuring strength in the body pressed to his. "I reckon I'm stuck with you, then."

"Like glue. Or maybe a leech. Bloodsucker, any—"

Doyle pulled back. "A _little_ reticence—"

"Make up your mind, mate."

"Berk." Doyle took in a deep breath. "Listen, I don't care about your past."

Bodie grinned, and then laughed as he dragged Doyle back into his arms. "You're a ferret, Doyle. You can't help but dig around in my past."

"Well, at least we'll have something to occupy ourselves with in years to come."

"I can think of some other things." Bodie leaned in to kiss him.

"Wait, are you—" He saw the derisive expression in Bodie's eyes. "Okay, yeah, stupid question." This time they moved together, mouth meeting mouth. And it was as good as their teamwork in a firefight, as good as having Bodie at his back. Better. It set his heart racing, his body warming—to think he would have a lifetime of this. He shuddered with the force of his need, and his thankfulness.

Bodie broke the kiss. "Take it easy. All right. All right. Christ, Doyle. You're just out of hospital." Bodie's voice was husky, a little slurred. But he held Doyle steady, just as he always had.

"Let's go to bed."

Bodie cleared his throat. "I'll, uh, doss down—"

Doyle clamped a hold on Bodie's wrist. "Oh, no. I'm keeping my eye on you." He pulled Bodie with him to his bedroom, then left him to undress while he crossed to the window. It was still snowing, and he paused as he was about to draw the curtain. "Come here."

Bodie came silently to him. He was bare-foot and bare-chested, and he stayed to the side of the window. "Need help?"

Doyle took hold of his arm and tugged him closer. "Look outside."

Bodie did, and the delight in his smile was easy to see in the light from a street lamp.

"You always said snow was magical." He kissed the side of Bodie's mouth, and felt the instant tension.

"Ray." Bodie tried to draw him away from the window.

Doyle stayed put. "We're telling Cowley. And I'm off the squad anyway." He didn't try to stop him as Bodie turned away.

"Why? Doyle, you'll make it back."

Doyle nodded. "Yeah. I don't want it."

"This is because of me, isn't it? Dammit—"

Doyle moved in close to him. "You wanted to kill Krivas, didn't you?"

Bodie was silent.

"But you gave me your gun. I'm giving you mine."

"Ray—"

"I'm not watching what it'll do to you when I go out on a—" The rest of his words were lost as Bodie kissed him, and pushed him against the wall, heedless of his shoulder. Doyle responded, met Bodie's ferocity with his own, just as he'd matched him in the field. Gradually, the kiss softened and he felt Bodie's surrender.

"Damn you, Doyle," Bodie sighed. He rested his head on Doyle's good shoulder.

Doyle rubbed his hands up and down Bodie's sides. "Can't have it all your own way."

"I can try."

Doyle grinned. "Good luck, now I've found how effective kissing is in winning arguments."

"That goes both ways, don't forget." Bodie lifted Doyle's sweatshirt, helping him out of it. "Anyway, don't be smug. When you're healthy, I'm going to—"

"Hey, there's a thought." Doyle tossed the sweatshirt towards the chair. "Can you even have sex with your spleen missing?"

"Shut up." Bodie eased the t-shirt over Doyle's head. Then he palmed Doyle's cock through his sweatpants. "You'd better hope so."

Doyle grimaced. "Not that it matters right now."

"Speak for yourself."

"Ah." Doyle gave him a wide smile, and his eyes dropped to Bodie's groin. "Well, I've had a year of suffering. You can stand one night."

"One night?"

Doyle climbed into bed. "Maybe two."

Bodie took off his trousers and slid into the bed. "Optimist."

"I won't break, you know."

"Huh. I've no proof of that."

"Ask Macklin."

"We will never see Macklin again." Bodie's voice was gleeful. He settled alongside Doyle.

"Well, there you go. I knew there was a good reason for all of this." Doyle lay in Bodie's embrace and for the first time in a year felt secure. It was as if he was the one who'd come home. He relaxed into Bodie's warmth. Was it only that morning he'd been in hospital? "I was too angry to die that day in the snow."

Bodie's arms tightened around him. "I know."

"I've never been indifferent where you're concerned." He yawned. He hadn't realised how exhausted he was.

"We'll keep each other alive, then."

"Like partners should." And he fell asleep to the rhythm of Bodie's breathing.

He woke to the ringing of the phone. He blinked, tried to sit up, but pain struck him as he moved. "Oh, God."

"Stay there." Bodie left the bed and crossed to the telephone. "Yes?" The sudden change in Bodie's posture told Doyle who the caller was.

He groaned and tried to bury his head in the pillow.

"Yes, sir. He's resting. Yes. Yes. Yes. No." Bodie breathed in. "He says he's quitting the squad."

Doyle pushed himself to a sitting position, his back against the headboard. Sunlight streamed into the room through the window.

"Yes. I— Hang on—what?" There was a long pause and Bodie's eyes flicked to Doyle, then away. "But— No. Yes, I imagine so. You...crafty old— Yes, sir."

"What?" Doyle asked. Bodie waved at him in a shushing motion.

"What?" Bodie sounded alarmed. "Oh, you've got to be jok—" There was another long pause. "Yes, sir." He looked resigned, and then he pinned Doyle with a look. "And by the way, sir," Bodie's voice edged towards defiance, "Doyle and I are sleeping together."

Doyle winced.

"Yes. Yes. Of course— Yes. No, sir. Happy Christmas to you, too, sir." Bodie hung up the phone rather forcefully.

Doyle looked at him. "Did you just— You—"

Bodie walked back to the bed. "Shove over. We're doomed."

Doyle moved over a few inches as Bodie climbed into the bed. "At least you've ensured we'll go together. What the fuck was all that—"

"We're not on the B squad."

"We're not?"

"No. More the...A-plus squad. You might say." Bodie rolled onto his side and put his arm across Doyle.

"Wha—?" Doyle stared down at him. "That crafty, old b— So he took my resignation from the squad in good order?"

"I would say so. No more kissing in front of windows, though. Oh, and by the way, as soon as you're recovered, we're off to Macklin."

"No!"

"Yes. New forms of defence or some such rot."

Doyle stroked Bodie's arm. "Ah, so that's why you told him about us. Hoping for a reprieve, were you?"

Bodie smiled. "Not exactly. Anyway, he took that in his stride too. As long as it's stable and long-term—which, by the way, he assumed it was—we can do as we like. Discreetly."

"He...thought—" Doyle scowled. "How long?"

"I'd rather not think."

"Bloody hell." Doyle sank down onto the bed. Bodie adjusted to accommodate him.

"Mind you, he did give us Christmas off."

"Generous of him—I'm still on sick leave."

"Yeah, but we can go away. Together."

"With the threat of Macklin hanging over us. I'll have to finish my own eggs."

"C'mon Doyle, where do you fancy?"

Doyle thought about it. Spain? The South of France? "Northumberland."

"Eh?"

He nuzzled Bodie's neck. "I want a white Christmas."

"Northumberland it is." Bodie sounded pleased.

"And I drive the Aston."

END

_December 2009_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the DiscoveredinaLJ Christmas challenge, 2009


End file.
